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saintmisu · 2 months

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MOUNTAIN PUSSY YES PLS

SWISSALPS EARTH GHOUL PUSSY AND FILTH >:)

you be speaking my language anon

890 words, pussy eating, rimming, squirting, fingering

“Swiss…” Mountain growled. A warning, though to Swiss it was more of an invitation. They’ve been having a slow afternoon, the multi ghoul laying with his head on Mountain’s thigh, but over the last ten minutes he’d been moving up and closer to his groin.

“Oh, come on,” he pouted. “Lemme, you know I’ll make it fun.”

“Why does everything have to end in sex with you?” the earth ghoul sighed.

“You don’t complain, usually,” Swiss winked at him, moving even closer. His face now inches away from where he wanted to bury his face in so desperately. “Please, my love.”

Mountain groaned, shaking his head. Of course he’d let him. First of all because he could never say no to his mate. Second of all because he was, in fact, slowly getting wet over the last few minutes. “Fine.”

The multi ghoul grinned at that, immediately hooking his fingers into the waistband of the other’s sweatpants and pulling at them. Mountain lifted his hips and it only took a split second for Swiss to pull down his pants and underwear, leaving the earth ghoul’s cunt to the cold air of the room. Not for long, though.

Swiss groaned as Mountain’s delicious smell hit him. He looked up at him once more with a question in his eyes. Mountain nodded and Swiss dived in.

“Oh, fuck,” the earth ghoul gasped, throwing his head back. His mate’s mouth was too skilled for his own good. Swiss was moaning into his pussy as he lapped up at him sloppily, getting his fill before he’d double down to actually make Mountain cum. It wouldn’t take much, anyway.

His thighs were already shaking and feeling it the multi ghoul pushed them to rest on his shoulder, giving him better access, too. Before Mountain could settle fully again, Swiss prodded with his tongue at his hole, making the other’s legs squeeze his head.

“Shit, I love when you do that,” he breathed out, taking this small break to kiss his mate’s inner thigh.

“I’ll break your neck one day,” Mountain grunted.

The multi ghoul only smiled up at him. “Can’t wait.”

With that Swiss returned to his meal, pushing his tongue into Mountain’s cunt as far as it’d go and making him moan pathetically, nose rubbing over his little dick. It was truly amazing what Swiss could do to Mountain in less than three minutes.

He fucked him with his tongue steadily before pulling it out in favour of two of his fingers, moving his mouth up to suckle lightly on his clit. The earth ghoul’s thighs kept clenching around his head nearly simultaneously with his cunt squeezing Swiss’ fingers. All Mountain could do was moan pathetically as his mate crooked the digits buried inside him and hit that one spot repeatedly. He knew him better than he did himself.

“D– Darling…” the earth ghoul whined. “Close.”

“Not yet, love,” Swiss muttered into the patch of curls he was nuzzling with his face. “‘m not done.”

Swiss leaned up to place a soft, wet kiss just under Mountain’s belly button before moving back down. And lower.

Mountain jumped at the press of a tongue on his perineum, but his surprised gasp soon turned into a truly whorish moan when Swiss circled the appendage around his ass. “Oh, fuck, shit, oh my– oh Lucifer.”

He could feel the multi ghoul hum against him as he all but made out with his hole, ignoring the one dripping like a faucet for a moment. “Swiss, darling, fuck, please, I gotta cum, make me cum.”

“Why does everything have to end in sex with you?” he parroted with a roll of his eyes over Mountain’s mound, but did—with one last kiss to his asshole—move back to his red little cock and dripping cunt.

Without further ado, Swiss shoved his fingers back into the earth ghoul and immediately curled them to assault his inner walls, suckling at his clit way less gently than before. As the tremor in Mountain’s legs got stronger and his moans got louder, his mate snuck his free hand around one of his thighs, settling it over his lower belly.

“Oh no…” Mountain muttered, realization of what Swiss’ plan was hitting him even through the horny haze in his brain.

“Oh yes. I know you can do it, my love” the multi ghoul whispered and pressed. “Squirt for me, baby.”

Swiss’ voice and the onslaught of sensations made Mountain truly powerless as he was thrown over the edge. His orgasm hit him like a freight train and he barely registered himself all but spraying Swiss’ face and him moaning pathetically at it. He rode it out slowly, squirming on the other’s fingers as the multi ghoul licked up every drop that Mountain spilled.

“Fuck, so good for me,” he babbled in between kisses that he was peppering all over his mate’s inner thighs. “Fed me so well, I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Mountain panted, chest heaving. “I’ll… I’ll suck you off, okay? Just gimme a sec, you wrecked me.”

“Oh, that, uhm…”

“What?”

“I’m not saying no, but it’s not really… necessary,” Swiss mumbled into the other’s skin, nuzzling into it with a soft blush.

“You didn’t…”

“Of course I did, my love.” Swiss winked at him, grinning. “You’re too sexy for me to handle.”

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saintmisu · 2 months

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RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

sooo.. how do we feel about swiss fingering transdew in the passenger seat

"Why me?"

Swiss tilts his head, spinning a heavy set of keys around one finger.

"Why not?"

Dew raises an eyebrow, gestures at the guitar in his lap, the papers spread out on his bed.

"Oh please," Swiss scoffs, pushing himself away from Dew's doorframe and striding into his sunlit room. It's a gorgeous day, early spring, the sweet scent of the rose gardens wafting in on the breeze. "You're tellin' me you'd rather practice than go for a joyride?"

Dew snorts, crossing his ankles and adjusting his beat up old acoustic. It's true that he's been at it for a while now, since just after breakfast, but this solo has been giving him shit and he's determined to nail it before their next group session.

"I don't think taking Sunny and Lus to the grocery store counts as a joyride."

Dew strums out a few chords while Swiss flops into his desk chair, leaning it back onto two legs. It creaks under his weight.

"Maybe not," Swiss concedes, unbothered, "but you could still come keep me company."

"What, the girls not enough for you?"

"They would be," Swiss replies with a shrug. "If they didn't spend every trip making out in the back seat."

Dew snorts at that - Swiss has a point, Sunshine and Cumulus are not ones to keep their hands off each other in any context. Still, he grumbles.

"C'mon, Sparky," Swiss goads, scooting his chair closer so he can rest his elbows on the mattress, propping his chin in one hand and prodding at Dew's knee with the other. "Don't make me beg."

"But I like it when you beg."

Dew throws Swiss a wink, and Swiss reciprocates with his best puppy dog eyes. Big and wet and completely irresistible. Dew sighs, throws up his hands in mock defeat.

"Fine, fine," he grumps, setting his guitar on the bed. "But I'd better get something outta this."

Swiss grins, delighted. Pats Dew on the thigh as he stands, shoving the chair back under the desk.

"I'll tell Lus to buy that spicy jerky you like," he offers, and Dew gives him a little ooh.

"The cheese too," he insists, shuffling to the edge of the mattress and reaching for his boots. "The one with the habaneros."

"Yeah, yeah," Swiss chuckles, heading for the door, "but warn me before you eat it, I'm not sleeping with you on cheese night again. I learned my lesson."

Dew hurls a pillow at him, and Swiss scampers into the hall with a boisterous laugh. The little ghoul works on lacing up his boots, and makes a mental note to never tell Swiss when it's cheese night.

Twenty minutes later they're on the road, and as the breeze blows through his hair Dew wonders why he was so reluctant in the first place.

It's a gorgeous day, sunny and hot, but not enough to need the a/c. They're flying down the highway in Copia's ancient whale of a car, the windows down and a Judas Priest cassette blaring through the speakers; Swiss belts out the chorus to Breaking the Law while Dew taps out a matching rhythm on the outside of his door. In the back, Cumulus provides backing vocals while Sunshine dances in her seat, and Dew can't help the massive grin that splits his face.

It's a 45 minute drive to the nearest grocery store - the one downside to the abbey being so remote - but the trip passes quicker than he expects. They're trundling into the parking lot before Dew knows it, Swiss killing the engine and groaning through a solid stretch. Dew flips down the visor, looks in the tiny mirror and makes a displeased sound at the state of his hair.

"Okay," Cumulus pipes up from the back seat. Dew peers at her in the mirror, not missing the fresh hickey just below her ear. "I have the list, I have our allowance, I have..." she pats at her chest, searching the pockets of her denim vest, "ah, and I have my phone!"

"You got my snacks on that list?" Dew inquires, working at his knotted ends. Cumulus makes an affirmative sound.

"Sure do," she lilts, leaning forward to dangle the paper in his face. "Jerky and cheese, as requested."

"Get some of that chocolate I like too," he mumbles, "the dark stuff, with the salt." He turns his head to give her outstretched hand a quick peck. "Please."

"You got it, sugar," she giggles, tucking the list away. "You two coming with us?"

"No boys allowed," Sunshine and Swiss say in unison, and the lot of them chuckle. It's a known fact that Dew isn't a fan of crowds and that Swiss can't be trusted around free samples, so in the car they will stay.

"Besides," Swiss adds, leaning across the bench seat to throw an arm around Dew's narrow shoulders, "I got good company right here."

He nips at Dew's ear and the little ghoul elbows him in the side, hard enough to make Swiss yelp. It turns into a quick little slap fight, a moment of playful stupidity that Dew will never admit to enjoying as much as he does.

"Play nice, kids," Sunshine chides when they break apart, resting her chin on the back of their seat with a toothy grin. "Or mommy won't bring back any treats!"

"Gross," Dew complains, but settles anyway. Goes back to working the kinks from his golden locks. Sunshine leans over the seat to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek and Dew squawks in protest.

"Aww, but you I thought you loved calling me that!"

Dew shoves her away, suffers through a chorus of snickers while his cheeks go pink, and resolutely avoids looking over as Swiss. The girls get their things together and then they're clambering out of the car; Sunshine glues herself to Cumulus, laces their hands together, and together they stride across the parking lot to the hulking monolith that is the grocery store.

"Mommy, huh?" Swiss pipes up moments later, and Dew groans.

"Shut up," he grouses, giving up on his messy hair and slouching down in his seat. "It's her thing, not mine," Dew lies. "Besides, I've called you worse."

"Can't argue that," Swiss lilts, stretching his arm along the back of the bench seat. "Remember that time you called me Mr. Army?"

Oh, does he, and Dew really doesn't want to think about that right now. Thick fingers tease their way into his tangled hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp.

"You were the one that put me in a schoolgirl outfit," Dew huffs, crossing his legs for reasons totally unrelated to that particular memory. "I can't be held accountable for anything I said."

"I just never thought I'd get anyone but Rain to call me that," Swiss murmurs, a lascivious grin sliding onto his face. Dew looks at him from the corner of his eye, unwilling to lose the pleasant pressure of Swiss' hand in his hair.

"Rain? Really?"

"Oh yeah," Swiss says, converational. His hand moves to cup the back of Dew's neck, and oh is that lovely. "Wanted me to spank his ass raw and tell him what a naughty boy he was while he said it. Poor guy went off against my thigh before I could even get him on my cock," he sighs, wistful. Swiss turns his head, fixes Dew with that vulpine smile. "You were a nice surprise."

The little ghoul rolls his eyes, and really hopes Swiss doesn't notice him squeezing his thighs together. He has nothing further to say on the matter - or, at least, nothing that won't get him into trouble - so he stays silent. Enjoys the way Swiss' thumb rubs the spot just behind his ear while he watches humans mill about the lot. Families and individuals both, with arms full of paper bags holding untold goodies.

For what it's worth, Swiss doesn't keep talking either. He's not quiet, still humming out a tune Dew recognizes but can't quite place, but it's comfortable. The sun's hanging high in the early afternoon sky, a gentle breeze flowing though the still open windows, and Dew would be lying if he said this wasn't a nice way to kill time.

"What's on your mind?" Swiss asks a handful of minutes later, giving his neck a squeeze. "You're never quiet for this long."

"Oh you're one to talk," Dew chuffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't remember the last time you shut up for more than five minutes."

"Pfft, sure you can," Swiss insists, that large hand dipping into the collar of Dew’s t-shirt, callused fingertips drifting over his skin and dragging a soft sigh from his lips. "I'm pretty sure I don't talk that much when you're sitting on my face, spitfire."

Dew scoffs despite the tingle the words force through him, a warm feeling settling into his belly. He turns his head to give Swiss a look, an incredulous eyebrow raised.

"That's the only example you can think of?"

"No," Swiss shrugs, "it's just the one I'm thinkin' of right now." The other ghoul licks his lips in a very intentional way, and that tingle hits again. "I guess deepthroating Mount counts too, but -"

"So the only thing that keeps you from yapping is having someone's junk in your mouth," Dew interrupts, nodding sagely, "noted."

Swiss laughs, loud enough to get the attention of a few people loading their car nearby. Dew shrinks in his seat.

"Like you're complaining."

He shifts in the seat, scooching closer. Dew squints at him, suspicious, but doesn't protest. Not even when Swiss gets close enough for their thighs to touch, for the other ghoul to drape an arm around his neck and let that huge hand rest on his chest. For Dew to soak in his spicy cologne and for Swiss to rest his chin on a bony shoulder.

"Besides," he rumbles, nosing at Dew's temple, "we both know you love my yapping."

"Love is a strong word," Dew mumbles, tilting his head when Swiss nuzzles his neck nonetheless.

"Mm, I don't think so," Swiss hums against his jaw, stubble scratching at his skin in a way that makes Dew's eyelids flutter. "Don't think I missed that little leg squeeze when I was talkin' about Rain, baby."

Dew groans, gives him a little shove. Far from enough to dislodge the other ghoul, more of a nudge than anything else. Token protest. Swiss huffs out a soft laugh, kisses his cheek.

"That's what I thought," he coos, licking at the shell of Dew's ear to draw out a shiver. The hand on his chest finds a nipple through his shirt, and Dew has to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. Curse Swiss for knowing every one of his weak spots. "Can't hide from me, Sparky."

Dew hates that he's right, and hates even more that - even in a place like this - Swiss can get him riled up with so little effort. Dew bounces his leg, takes his lower lip between his teeth while he scans the parking lot. There are people everywhere, but none close enough to see them - a fact Dew is very thankful for when Swiss sucks his earlobe and gives one of his nipple piercings a tug. Any closer and they might hear his moan.

"Fuck," Dew grunts, squirming in his seat, "ugh, you bitch."

"Such language," Swiss taunts, tracing the tip of his tongue along Dew's pulse point. "Lucifer, you're so easy."

Dew growls as best he can, human glamour be damned, and it just makes Swiss laugh again. It's a shame he can't argue - Swiss and Aether are the only ones who have such an effect on him, and they both know it perfectly well.

"Aww, gettin' all hot and bothered already?" Dew tries to shake his head, but Swiss kisses his throat and it doesn't get him very far. "Don't lie, firecracker. I can smell it on you."

Of course he can. He always can. Dew sighs as his eyes slip shut, sagging into the seat as Swiss slowly but surely teases the spots that make him start to sweat. Swiss' other hand lands on his thigh, stroking tight denim until Dew’s legs uncross. He walks two fingers up the inseam of the little ghoul's jeans while he trails wet kisses along his jaw, and Dew really can't help the soft sounds it all wrings from him.

Then that wandering hand sneaks under his shirt, lifts it up to expose his belly, and Dew jolts.

"H-hey, wait," he breathes, fists balled at his sides. His eyes crack open despite the way Swiss continues to work his chest, his throat, his ear. He watches Swiss' talented fingers trace his happy trail, dip into his navel and disappear up his shirt, and when Swiss rubs at his bare nipple Dew has to clap a hand over his mouth to hide his moan. "Shit, Swiss -"

It's muffled by his palm, and Dew's eyes dart around the parking lot as Swiss pulls away. Fixes him with hooded eyes and a crooked smile.

"Hm?" Swiss tugs both piercings at once and Dew shudders. "Something wrong?"

"You - oh - fuck, Swiss some...someone's gonna hear, someone's gonna - nngh - gonna see -"

"So?" The hand under his shirt runs ticklish trails down his belly, makes the muscles there jump. Swiss nibbles at his collarbone and Dew makes an embarrassing gurgling noise. "You like being watched and we both know it."

That may be true, but Dew thinks there's a difference between Mountain spying on him through a crack in the door and being fondled in a public parking lot with the windows down.

Swiss' hand finds his belt then, and Dew throbs.

"Fucker," he bites out as Swiss unbuckles him, other hand still expertly working his chest, and Dew flushes at the dark chuckle Swiss lets out.

"Maybe later," he croons, kissing the hinge of his jaw. "I got other plans for you right now."

Swiss wastes no time it getting his belt out of the way, quick to pop the button and tug down his zipper. Dew's narrow chest is heaving by the time Swiss hooks two fingers into the band of his boxer briefs. The other ghoul gives him a cruel smirk, snaps the band against his skin, and Dew sucks air through his teeth.

"Better keep it down, baby," Swiss speaks against his ear, liquid silk. "If you can, that is."

That hand worms its way into his underwear, slips down between his thighs, and Dew clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks.

"Mm, what's this?" Swiss glides the tip of one finger through his folds and Dew's thighs tense. "So slippery already. Just from this?"

Swiss tweaks his nipple, licks a nasty stripe below his ear, and Dew really has to work not to choke on his own tongue. His fat little dick throbs against Swiss' palm, and Swiss sounds absolutely thrilled about it.

"Oh, someone's excited," he teases, one thick finger prodding at his hole. "It's already tryin' to suck me in," Swiss sing-songs, and the little ghoul's shoulders sag.

Dew whimpers when he pushes the tip inside, clenching around an intrusion that feels far too good for how slight it is. He can't stop looking at everyone wandering the parking lot, trying to stay on high alert for the slightest hint of undue attention but struggling more and more with every passing second. Swiss wriggles that probing digit further inside, up to the second knuckle, and then there's sudden pressure on it front wall that has Dew's back arching off the seat.

"Fuck, fuck," he wheezes, hands flying to whatever he can reach - one paws at Swiss' shirt, the other gripping his forearm. Feeling the muscles shift as Swiss' finger works him open, groaning at the gentle stretch. "Oh you bastard."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart," Swiss breathes, palming his stiff clit, and Dew's breath catches in his throat.

"Can't believe you're - oh shit, oh - fuck, can't believe I'm letting you - ah!"

Dew bites his lips shut as Swiss curls his finger just right, muting his cry and fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back. Clamps his thighs around that massive hand until Swiss chuckles in his ear, swirling that digit and making the little ghoul's eyes cross instead.

"You're so pretty like this," he rumbles, a second finger tracing around the first, spreading slick. "All shy. Makes you even tighter," Swiss tells him, and Dew clamps down even harder. Why is it so good? "Wish I could get you in my lap right now," his breath is so, so hot in Dew's ear. "Get you to sit on my cock and see how quiet you are then."

Dew shivers head to toe, legs spreading at the thought alone, and Swiss leaps at the opportunity. Pulls his first finger out only to slide back in with two, and there's no possible way he could stay silent through that. He turns his head just in time to sink his teeth into Swiss' shoulder, howling his pleasure into cotton and flesh, and Swiss groans right along with him.

"That's more like it," he praises, kissing the top of Dew’s head while he pants and shivers. "Gonna be a quick one, isn't it?"

Dew nods as best he can, moaning into Swiss' shirt when he rubs the heel of his hand in slow circles over his pulsing clit. Doesn't pull back until he's sure he can control himself, gasping when Swiss crooks his fingers but biting back the whine bubbling up in his throat.

"Y-yeah," he admits, thready. He can't be bothered to look out the window anymore, staring only at the bulge Swiss' hand makes in his jeans. "Fuck, just do it, fuckin' make me."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Swiss lilts, one last taunt, and then the only sound filling the space around them is the wet squelch of skilled fingers plunging in and out of his tight little body.

It's perfect - the curve of Swiss' digits, the pressure against his sensitive little dick, the way Swiss rubs at that one spot inside that has Dew going boneless against Swiss' side. Huffing hot into his shirt, hair falling into his face and wafting in the breeze still flowing through the open windows. He can't stop grabbing at Swiss - his shirt, his arm, whatever he can reach. Skinny hips rolling against his palm in search of more, more, driving Swiss' fingers as deep as they'll go.

"C-close," he spits far too soon, every inch of him on fire and wound tight as a spring. Swiss gives his closes approximation of his usual purr, and Dew's thighs quiver. "Like...like that, just like that, shit -"

"Yeah?"

The hand still torturing his nipples stills, presses flat to Dew's chest. His fingers feel so perfect Dew can't handle it, on edge and covered in goosebumps.

"Give me a squeeze, baby," Swiss instructs, and Dew does. Clenches hard around those two wonderful digits and Swiss seems to predict the sound it'll drag from him, because the hand on his chest flies to cover Dew's mouth and catch his wail. "Fuck, that's my good boy," Swiss huffs, breathless in a way Dew adores even through his haze of pleasure. The other ghoul holds him close, keeps his mouth covered, and Dew scrabbles at the arm working him. "Now let me feel it cum for me."

Dew loses all sense of rhythm as Swiss curls his fingers one last time, hitting something that puts stars in his eyes and wrenches harsh moans from his throat, and with one perfect roll of Swiss' palm against his clit Dew's gone.

He's drooling against Swiss' palm when he comes down from the highest high, sweaty at his hairline and his cunt still snapping around Swiss' fingers. Holding him inside with the little ghoul rides out the aftershocks, breathing hard through his nose and blinking with one eye at a time. Swiss is muttering all sorts of nonsense into his hair, a litany of praise and wonderment that Dew cannot for the life of him understand but appreciates anyway.

Soon enough sensitivity sets in, and Dew hisses against Swiss' damp palm. Reaches up to peel his hand away with shaky fingers, squirming until Swiss gets the message and pulls out with care. There's a gush of warmth that follows, soaks into his briefs, and Dew heaves a sigh.

"Unholy shit," he slurs, collapsing back into his seat like a mound of jelly. "What the fuck, Swiss."

The other ghoul chuckles, and Dew rolls his neck just in time to watch Swiss pop his messy fingers into his mouth. Listens to Swiss suck them clean and groan at the taste of him.

"What?" He licks slick from his palm, exaggerated passes of his tongue that Dew finds himself fascinated by. "You said you wanted to get something outta this, right?" Dew blinks at him, brows scrunched together as he tried to make his brain work. "Just granting your wish, Sparky."

Swiss gives him a wink, and then he's leaning in for a quick kiss. Just a peck, really, before he's fastening Dew's jeans and putting his belt back into place. Smoothing his hair as best he can before he scoots back behind the wheel, lacing his fingers behind his head. Dew's fully back by the time he's done, very aware of their surroundings once more and ever so glad to see their activities seem to have gone unnoticed.

"Just in time, too," Swiss comments, nodding towards the store. Dew squits against the sun and sees the girls just leaving the building, Sunshine's arms full and Cumulus carrying what looks to be a single bag of chips. They're bumping into each other and giggling, Dew can tell even from across the lot, and his own smile curls into place.

"Damn," he laments, sitting up straighter. "Guess you'll have to wait 'til we get back for your turn, huh?"

He turns to give Swiss a playful wink, and finds Swiss looking...he isn't sure. Smug? Maybe? Hard to say.

"What's your problem?"

"Nothin'," he shrugs, eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Just find it funny that after so long you still don't know what you do to me."

Dew blinks as Swiss reaches over to grab his wrist, guiding to his crotch and -

"Oh no fuckin' way."

"Tell anyone and I won't eat you out for a month," Swiss threatens, but Dew's to busy enjoying the sizeable wet spot beneath his hand to care.

"We're ba-ack!" Cumulus calls once they're in earshot, and Dew gives Swiss a squeeze before he pulls back. Licks at his palm while Sunshine loads up the trunk, just to make the other ghoul suffer a little bit more. The back doors swing open and the girls slide inside. "You boys have fun without us?"

"Oh, Lus," Dew tells her, rifling through the cassettes in the glove box with the tang of Swiss still coating his tongue. "You have no idea."

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saintmisu · 2 months

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Law #6.

*Swiss and Dew sitting in jail together.*

Swiss: Who should we call to bail us out?

Dew: I’d call Rain, but I feel safer in jail.

Swiss: Yep, I’d suggest Mountain but I’d be dead before the end of the day.

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saintmisu · 2 months

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Thinking about the Abbey having its own glamor. To clergy members, it's stately, gorgeous. The grounds filled with manicured gardens and greenhouses, a hedge maze, immaculately maintained courtyards and stone paths. It's a a hulk of a building, a maze in and of itself. Wing after wing sprawling out into the grounds, with big stained glass windows and slate roofs, and big heavy wooden doors that shine in the sunlight. But to the uninitiated. The locals. The Christians. It's a ruin. The lake returning to swamp, filled with muck and weeds and monsterous rumors. The stone paths shot through with weeds. The gardens over flowing. The greenhouses just twisted metal and broken glass. And the Abbey? It's dangerous. The front door swings on it's hinges. There are gaps in the roof that let sunlight and rain and ivy in. Stained glass windows lay in shattered ruin on the chapel floor. Those sprawling wings are a mess of rotten wood, and crumbling stone. And if all of those things weren't enough to keep the riff-raff out, there are the rumors. The ghosts. The phantom hands on shoulders. The disembodied whispers. The shadows. The ghouls, always just out of sight. Protecting their home. Their people. And when fear isn't enough? When some humanity leans into that stupid bravery they're so proud of? Well, it's easy to make death look accidental in a place like this.

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saintmisu · 2 months

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I AM SCREAMING RIGHT NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW 😭💕

Buried in Treasure

Whatever this is, it came from insomnia and doom scrolling ritual clips. 3619 words of Phantom being desperate and Dew being shy for just a minute.

CW: Masturbation, recreational drug use, a little bit of exhibitionism if you squint but it was extorted, extremely sappy gross ghouls in love.

Also - I think my Phantom has been heavily influenced by the way @high-imperatrix writes him. He's always been earnest to a fault, what he lacks in tact he makes up for in sincerity. I think Trix's depiction just added that bit of silly he needed (I needed. I make everyone VERY SERIOUS).

With no discernible plans for the weekend, Dew and Phantom welcomed their chance to revel in a few of the deadly sins, sloth being their most frequent transgression over the last two days.

Below the cut or on AO3

They should be ashamed that they haven’t once removed themselves from the dents they’ve created in Dew’s mattress. Even if they’ve seen the shadows grow long and short again twice over. Should be. But they’ve smoked a little bit too much to feel any shame whatsoever.

None, even if Phantom’s t-shirt is stained with radioactive orange streaks from the dust covered, deep-fried, corn meal that has him self dosing quintessence to relieve his heartburn. Not even that Dew hasn’t changed out of his well-worn, threadbare sweats in two days. Sweats with more holes than should be even considered a whole garment anymore, even Mountain wrinkles his nose at the sight of them.

Phantom keeps Dew’s right hand occupied by keeping their fingers laced together. Loosely, so he has room to fidget with them. Squeeze Dew’s knobby joints, stroke the callous along his thumb, the firmer ones on his fingertips. To trace the veins, for which he had months earlier only been able to do so with his eyes.

Dew can't be bothered to focus on whatever’s screaming through the tv set on his dresser. So he just tangles the fingers of his free hand in Phantom’s floppy waves and looks at whatever Phantom’s looking at on his phone.

Which at the moment happens to be himself.

“I told you to stop watching those around me.” The words feel like too tough, over-chewed meat, as he tries to form them with a dry tongue and a stiff jaw. What he gets for eating a metric ton of sour candy and drinking zero water.

“I like it. Makes me happy. Good memories.” Phantom manages to string a few words together. Not quite a sentence but his meaning is conveyed well enough.

And it’s true, he loves to watch the videos that have circulated around the internet since the beginning of the tour. They are good memories. The greatest, in fact.

“Don’t need to remember me, I’m right here.” Dew punctuates the sentence with a tap on the end of his nose.

“Just. Lemme. Few more.” Phantom hiccups.

Dew lets his eyes cross until the phone screen is nothing but a wash of colour. Red or green or blue to match whatever metallic sounding audio comes out of the speakers.

Phantom hasn’t learned how to feel self conscious yet. It doesn’t bother him to see or hear his performance. Instead, he feels the same excitement circulating through his veins, albeit a smaller dosage.

Dew on the other hand, he feels what borders on second hand embarrassment from time to time. But is it still second hand if it’s himself he feels humiliated for?

Eventually Dew snaps out of his haze because the repetition of the audio snags on his mind like a loose thread caught on a jagged fingernail.

“How many times you gonna watch that one?”

When his eyes roll forward again, he notices more than just the same riff playing over and over. He notices Phantom’s grip on his hand simultaneously go still and tight. He notices the rosy flush on his cheeks, and the tent in his pants that he tries to conceal with the hand holding the phone.

But the slight lifting of his hips betrays him and the fact that something has him very suddenly all keyed up is quite plain. And that something is Dew. The Dew laying against a mountain of pillows at the head of the bed, and the Dew on the phone screen.

The Dew dragging those rough, vascular hands down his chest, bringing his fingers to his lips and teasing them through the fabric. His stance, one boot planted on the riser, knee raised, back arched, chest heaving.

It takes more than a few seconds for all of the dots to connect and when the thought is fully formed, Dew grabs the phone and launches it to the end of the bed.

Phantom is stunned for a moment, he’s still a little lost in whatever fantasy was playing out in his mind before it was rudely torn away.

“Why’d you do that?” Phantom huffs, but he can’t even muster the energy to sound annoyed.

“S’embarrassing. I don’t wanna watch myself.”

“Why not? You’re so - so” and for no real reason at all Phantom dissolves into a fit of breathless giggles. No reason except that he is very high and he’s been high for a very long time.

“Now you’re laughing at me. I’m going to kick you the fuck out if you don’t stop.” It’s all said with a little bit too much venom.

And suddenly, for Phantom at least, sobriety doesn’t feel like a fuzzy bright light at the end of a very long tunnel. He swings his body round to face Dew, and it all feels very serious. And Dew regrets his words.

“I’m just joking. I won’t kick you out.” Dew watches as he’s being watched, by those impossibly large, glassy amethyst eyes.

“Say something.” His apology is unspoken but Phantom feels it in the way Dew is rubbing the backs of his hands with his thumbs.

“I wasn’t laughing at you. I was trying to tell you - you’re so - so - so” and Dew waits for him to errupt in laughter all over again. But he doesn’t, he leans in closer, and Dew can’t say that being this close ever makes him nervous, but it is right now.

“What?”

Phantom decides that his words aren’t wording, so he’d better use his lips and his tongue to communicate in a different way. A way that conveys what he cannot articulate otherwise.

Dew lets out a little squeak when Phantom launches himself into his lap, but he dissolves like sugar in steaming milk when Phantom presses his lips against his cheek, and then to his own lips. And then he’s pouring all of his sentiments into Dew’s mouth and down his throat.

He’s not a neat kisser. But he’s enthusiastic. And wet. And Dew likes that. One can simply not mistake how Phantom feels when he talks with his body instead of his words.

Dew thinks he understands now. And part of him can reconcile the fact that on occasion, more than a few ghouls and humans have thought that his on-stage antics could be considered sexy.

But he doesn’t linger on that thought for very long. Because he could swear Phantom was the fire ghoul, the scorching heat radiating underneath his clothes as he kisses like he means to consume, greedily. He rolls his body against Dew with the same desperate enthusiasm that he has when he fucks.

Even though it can’t always be like the first time, Phantom has a way of making it feel like it is. And his excitement is infectious.

Dew thumbs at the damp patch on Phantom’s sweats; spreads it around and makes it bigger. Drags the pad of it across the slit, and Phantom makes the most sapid sound, broken. Dew thinks if the noises he makes could actually touch his cock, he’d cum just from that. Maybe he’s high enough that all of his muddled senses might be confused enough to make it happen.

Phantom suddenly breaks away, almost as suddenly as he pounced. And he’s staring at Dew again with renewed vigor, and eyes the size of dinner plates.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot. That thing you do. I want you to do it.”

“I - what?” Somehow, despite the audio still looping at the foot of the bed, everything that happened before Phantom kissed him breathless is a distant memory.

“I want you to do what you do on stage. But I want you to do it to me.”

“Oh - OH.” Dew feels his face flush red. “I can’t just - do - that.”

“Why not? You’ve jerked off in front of me before.”

Dew can’t help but shrug. He isn’t wrong. “But that’s different.”

“Why?”

Phantom is incapable of nuance; Dew sighs. “I dunno. Cause that just - happens. It’s not you know - a performance.”

“I don’t want you to perform. I want you to do it. Like actually.”

Dew sighs again, slightly more exasperated this time. “I knew what you meant, but I mean, it would still feel like - I was putting on a show.”

“No, not a show. I want it to be real. Please. I want you to touch yourself. I want to watch.” The way that Phantom is looking at him, like Dew cradles his very existence in his hands; like all his hopes and dreams just happen to be riding on him feeling himself up and jacking off while being gawked at. How can he say no?

“I’ll try.” And you truly can’t beat the smile that beams back at him. Maybe he really was granting all of Phantom’s wishes. Or maybe they’re both really high and hopefully Dew doesn’t have to remember this tomorrow.

“I love you.”

Dew laughs at the way he says it, so point blank. Like he asked for ketchup to accompany his fries. “I love you too.”

And then he considers how he’s going to do this. He’s not sure if music would help, or if it would just make it more humiliating. A farce of being sexy, cause it isn’t the same without the uniform and the stage. He isn’t towering above a crowd with 8 others at his back and the frenzied energy of a ritual.

No, Phantom has seen him cry, he can see the fine lines under his eyes and count the ribs that protrude from his back no matter how much he eats. Phantom has seen him lose his temper, he’s seen him trip and fall, seen him fuck up during practice, say the wrong thing, burn the toast, turn the laundry pink. Here in this place, in this bed, he is fallible, and he is fragile, and he is vulnerable. Whether he likes it or not.

He decides music is best, but not that music. He reaches for the phone and closes the app. Chooses to reset the needle on his record player instead. He draws the dusty curtains closed. It’s dark outside, but it feels safer without the night sky watching him make a fool of himself.

Dew kneels back down on the overstuffed mattress and feels more than a touch of trepidation. That he’ll start and Phantom will actually laugh at him.

Phantom leans forward and kisses his cheek again. And it’s all too sweet for someone who just begged for an x-rated strip tease with a happy ending.

“I don’t know what to do. How to start. What you want.”

Phantom, ever earnest, repeats himself, clearly riled up just by the words he himself is speaking. “I want you to put your fingers in your mouth. I want you to touch your chest. I want you to stroke yourself. I want you to cum on me.”

Dew has never had performance anxiety before. But maybe it’s trying to marry what he does on stage and off that’s making this all so difficult. But he can’t deny that watching Phantom palm at his cock through his pants while he speaks isn’t doing something to him. Making his belly swoop, upending the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

Phantom may be obtuse on occasion but he isn’t completely without empathy, or the ability to sense Dew’s hesitation. So he gets up on his knees, and lifts his own fingers and runs them across his lips.

“Like this.” And something about his demonstration albeit brief, makes Dew’s thighs burn, makes his stomach ache in the best way.

And Phantom is so close to him now, that it doesn’t feel like he’s being watched, like he’s doing it alone. And when he then pulls his own fingers across his lips, he can feel the heat of Phantom’s breath on the saliva that transferred to his skin.

“Like that?”

“Yeah. Like that. Do it again. Your hands are so pretty.”

So he does. And he knows Phantom has seen older videos. He knows what else he might want to see. And he obliges.

He sticks out his tongue and runs his fingers across it. Once, twice. Phantom can’t help but lean forward because he needs to taste it. Does what so many may have wished to do. What he had wished - burned to do for so long. It’s still surreal, even with the knowledge that the same air is being pushed and pulled from their lungs while they kneel, nose to nose.

“That’s so hot. You’re so hot.”

Dew can’t help but turn his head, let himself feel shy for a just a half of a second. But he’s pulled back into the moment by Phantom’s tongue on his fingers.

“Just wanted to taste it.”

Dew pets at his tongue, watches the end of it swirl around his middle finger. But it’s quickly ejected. Phantom is steadfast when he knows what he wants, and Dew is keenly aware of that.

“Do it like that. Put them in your mouth. Suck.”

The sight makes Phantom curl in on himself just a little. Without the chrome mask covering his delicate features, it’s almost too much. His perfect fingers disappearing between pink lips, his cheeks hollowed as he does as he’s told. The red and blue peaking through a dense curtain of lashes.

Phantom teases the hem of Dew’s shirt with his fingers, and then tugs it over his head, does the same with his own. He presses his thumbs to Dew’s hips. He whines with his mouth closed. Like a puppy. And Dew can barely stand it.

“What now?” Dew knows what now, but he realizes that he loves to hear Phantom say it, demonstrate it.

He watches Phantom drag his palm down his chest, it’s sincere. He shudders when the heel of his hand dips below the waistband of his sweats.

Dew thinks yeah, I can do this. He lets his fingers dance along his lower lip first, before he lets them cut pointedly down his chest like a sword, leaving little red lines from his blunted nails.

Phantom moans softly. Digs his own nails into his skin. Wants them to be Dew’s. But not yet.

His face is still so close, Dew can still feel him breathing. Feel him holding it, feel the air forced from his nose when he shudders as he brushes the backs of his knuckles against his own cock. It’s tension, it’s longing, it’s need.

Phantom slides his own pants down past his bony hips, cock bouncing and hitting him in the stomach. Leaving behind a glossy wet mark in the soft trail of brown hair that gives Dew heart palpitations.

“You look so good.”

“So do you.” Phantom concurs as he pushes Dew’s down next, letting him use his shoulders for balance as he slips them out from under his knees and over his ankles, kicks them to the floor.

Dew lets his hand wander across his chest, along his ribs, down his stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He isn’t sure why he’s feeling brave now, but he is. He’s feeling himself, which is what Phantom found so appealing in the first place.

“Yeah, like that. Make yourself feel good.” Phantom’s mouth is closer now, close enough that when he speaks, his tongue flicks against Dew’s lower lip.

Dew slides his fingers across his nipple, and then around it, bracketing it with his fingers and pulling. He feels the generous glob of pre collecting at the slit drip onto his thigh.

“Does that feel good?”

“So good.” Their voices are hushed now. These whispered words are only for them, to Phantom they feel so sacred he doesn’t even want the furniture to hear them. So he leans in to speak directly into Dew’s ear, “Make em’ all red and hard.”

Dew whimpers as he yanks on the silver hoop threaded through his nipple, he scratches and pinches, until they’re swollen and flush like cherries.

“Wanna taste ‘em. So bad.” Phantom confesses, forlorn, like Dew wouldn’t allow it. He would. But he’s still resolute, he can taste and touch later.

Dew is practically panting now, he can’t help it. He doesn’t remember the last time he was so worked up for so long over so little. But he doesn’t care. And this really is how Phantom makes him feel most of the time. He could blame it on the weed but he knows it isn’t true.

“What now, Stellula?” The pet name sounds arcane as it’s spoken into the shell of his ear, as if only they have heard the sounds and syllables in that order.

“Stroke it. Nice and slow.” He demonstrates by looping his long fingers around his cock, runs them up and down a few times at a snail's pace, he stops suddenly, so worked up that in a couple more pulls he’d be shooting all over Dew’s thighs.

Instead his pre dribbles onto his knuckle and he licks it off absentmindedly. And Dew can't stop himself, the need to dip his tongue into Phantom’s mouth to taste it. To think about feeding him his own cum after he spills in Dew’s mouth. To know how enthusiastic he is about doing such a thing.

He pulls away, they’re both breathless now, leaning forehead to forehead.

“Let me see it. Please.”

“Anything for you.” And Dew means it, more than he ever realized maybe.

He gets a hand on himself, a loose grip, languid pace. Phantom leans back so he can see. Watch him milk out another shiny bead of pre. This time Dew doesn’t let it fall, he catches it with his finger, pulls back his foreskin and smears it back over the slit with a hiss.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I like it.”

“Wanna watch you make a mess.”

“Yeah? You wanna watch me finish?”

“Yes. Wanna see what no one else gets to see.” Phantom knows other people have seen it, but not like this. “Want to see you make yourself cum. Want you to cum on me.”

“Where?”

“Here.” Phantom plants his hand in the center of his chest and Dew can’t even be phased by what some would consider a mockery of a romantic gesture. Only Phantom could, with sincerity, ask someone to cum right where his heart is and not understand how ridiculous it is. And that’s why it isn’t ridiculous. At least not to Dew, not right now.

Dew moves his hand a little faster now. Phantom tried not to touch but he can’t help himself, wanting to drink the sounds Dew makes directly from his lips, to taste the way his jaw trembles on his tongue. To feel as much as he can feel when he actually wishes he could crawl right underneath Dew’s skin sometimes.

“I’m so close.”

“Yeah?”

“You still want me?” There are other words Dew had intended to be part of that sentence. But he trims the excess, the artifice, it has no place here.

“I want you, so bad. Never wanted anything, anyone more. Give it to me.”

Phantom lowers himself to sit on his calves, while Dew extends himself back to the position he started in. On his knees. Only he doesn’t feel embarrassed now, or unsure of what he’s meant to do. Spurred on by the little gasps Phantom makes as if he’s the one stroking himself to completion, he’s not sure how he can even hold out a second longer but he also doesn’t want it to be over.

“Fuck Dew, you’re so - so - beautiful.” That's what he wanted to say earlier. And again, only in this moment could Phantom say something like that and it just makes Dew’s balls draw up even faster.

Dew can’t formulate any words now, the only noise coming from him is a wounded sound that wraps around Phantom’s brain stem and burns itself into his memories forever.

The first warm rope paints his skin and he is beside himself, he can’t resist running his hand through it, tasting it, can’t wait until Dew’s finished before he’s making a bigger mess.

His other hand braces Dew’s jaw, his thumb grazing his cheek, tender and precise in a way he shouldn’t be coordinated enough to execute, while the other runs erratic across his body, painting his own skin, his mouth, with Dew’s release.

Dew’s thighs shake until they give and he falls back to rest on his calves, jerking himself to oversensitivity, until his whole body spasms involuntarily.

Partners aside, he is quite sure he’s never cum so hard from his own hand. Or so much.

Phantom doesn’t give Dew’s mind a chance to revolt. To contort what just happened into something unlikable and ugly.

“That was perfect. You’re perfect. You’re the hottest person - like - I’ve ever seen. Ever. Fuck, I love you. So - so much.” Okay, maybe his words weren’t poetry but they made their mark.

Dew presses his I love yous back against Phantom’s lips, pulls him down to lay against the rapid swell of his chest, he needs to feel the weight of him, even if he can’t breathe.

When he’s oxygenated enough to speak, to move, he’ll tell Phantom to fuck him til he’s hard again. And Phantom will laugh and tell him there’s no way in hell he’ll last that long.

But Dew will beg him to try, beg just like Phantom did. Because he’s decided he doesn’t care and wants to sound as desperate as he feels, as Phantom makes him feel.

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